Emerald
by LindaO
Summary: A romantic interlude, a reunion. For everyone who had questions about the continuing relationship between Control and Lily Romanov, here are the answers: Yes, sorta, and oh, yeah.


Control sat in the semi-dark suite – as dark as things ever got in New York, even at night with the shades drawn – and puffed on his cigar thoughtfully. He appeared calm, as always, patient. His breathing was even, his muscles relaxed. Every fiber of his being was focused on the door, willing it to open. Willing her to be here. As if willing would help.

His body clock told him it was midnight, maybe a little past. He'd checked his office messages on the way home from Becky's apartment. There were six; only one was important to him. 'Still trying to get home. Hope to be in the office Monday. LR.' The message within the message: I'm heading for home base, hope to see you there.

No message on his machine at home. He hadn't expected one. He'd showered, put on khaki slacks and a navy sport shirt, waited around a bit. Still nothing, and nothing at the office. He concealed his gun under a jacket, grabbed the grocery bag Becky had packed for him, and was almost out the door before he thought to go back and retrieve a tiny package from his personal safe. He'd already sent his car away for the night; he took a cab to the block behind the achingly nondescript building where the Company housed some of its transitory agents.

He'd come up the back steps, let himself in with a passkey. The suite had the sterile echoes of emptiness. He'd put Becky's food away – wondering in passing why his parcel of leftover steak and veggies also had little containers of coffee grounds and brown sugar, and why the pint of cream – took off his jacket, tucked his gun away in the couch. Waited.

Home base, he thought dourly, looking around the wretched little place. A tiny living room, a tiny bedroom, something inanely called a kitchenette. All in shades of beige and white. It was, at least, clean. And – clean. Control had sent his sweepers over that afternoon; they'd done every apartment in the place.

They had spent way too much time, he and Lily, in apartments like this, or in hotel rooms, trapped together, the secrecy of their relationship putting them under self-imposed house arrest. Sneaking in and out, always separately. For Lily, there was no upgrade apartment to go home to, either. She lived in places like this all the time. Everything she owned fit into a footlocker. The Company had moved the trunk out of her apartment in Langley, sent it to Florida with her, and now it was being shipped back – here. To this barren little hovel that was nothing at all like a home. It was beyond Control's conprehension that she chose to live this way. He wondered idly what kind of life she'd had, what childhood forces had shaped such a pathological aversion to owning things. He wondered if she'd ever get over it. He wondered what she'd make of the gift he'd brought her.

It would, at least, fit into the trunk.

He waited.

The day ached in his shoulders. He'd rarely had a day so bad, and it could easily have been so, so much worse. Bless the child Becky and her prescience. He should have listened to her; should have gone home and back to bed. But it was over, finally. With the sunset, she'd assured them, it was safe again. Lily had been caught up in it, too, but with the sunset she should finally be able to make her way home. 'She'll be in your arms by sunrise,' Becky had promised Control. He believed her. But it was a long time until sunrise.

Five weeks and two days since he'd seen Lily last. Thirty-seven days. Not that anyone was counting. She'd been in Florida since just after Christmas, first in Tillman's care, then with the most expensive plastic surgeons in Boca Raton. Then rehab and strength training in Pensacola. In all events, staying well away from Washington, where the whole Contra matter continued to bubble up like a festering wound. Control had been there to see her three times. But it wasn't enough. Too little time; too many interruptions. Now, finally, she was done with that, ready to come home, to be here, to be with him …

… to go back to work.

Control ground the cigar lightly between his back teeth. _She_ was ready to go back to work, she'd even passed the damn Company physical fitness test again. He just wasn't sure _he_ was ready for her to go back to work. Maybe he could just keep her somewhere safe …

He already knew that wasn't likely to work, and there wasn't any point in dwelling on it.

Well, it wouldn't hurt to offer again.

Control shook his head, shook his cigar ashes into the ashtray beside him. From the very beginning, Lily Romanov had possessed an uncanny gift for making him behave like an idiot. He needed, now more than ever, to be level-headed. Needed to be calm and clear, needed to be intelligent rather than emotional. She'd been through a hell of a lot, in part because of him, and he needed, more than anything, not to hurt her any more. Not about her job, not about their relationship, not about sex. Because if he wanted back what they'd had before – before he'd sent her away - and he did, then he absolutely couldn't put her through any more grief.

He wasn't, he told himself very sternly, thinking about sex. At all.

Maybe, he mused, he could keep her in the office for a while. She wouldn't like being stuck at a desk, but he could probably come up with some argument. Psychological clearance delay, maybe. That might buy him a week or two …

… because Lily had been raped, brutalized, and it was damn well going to be up to her when and if they ever resumed that aspect of the relationship, and he was damn well not going to so much as mention it, as he'd told her in exactly those terms, months ago, and it had been easy to remember when she was so damn thin and sickly, but the last time he'd seen her she'd put some familiar curves back on and her kisses had recovered their old assurance and the touch of her hand on his arm recalled so many other touches …

… then again, maybe not. It looked like she'd pretty well buffaloed the Company counselor down at Pensacola, and if that idiot had already signed off, Lily would know about it, and she was not going to like being stuck in the office, even to be near him. Five weeks ago she was already hinting around that her passport collection was much too dusty …

… and she had called it, in anger, his drive-by sex life, but it hadn't been like that, it had been incredible, passionate, indulgent, inventive. Playful. He had not dreamed that he would ever again have a relationship so good he wanted to stay in bed all day. He had been sure he was too old for such nonsense. And then there was Lily, and sometimes he'd wanted her as frantically as a sixteen-year-old, and sometimes he'd reveled in being older, more patient, more attentive. She'd always been ready to meet his mood, always willing to follow his lead …

Control frowned, bit down on the cigar again. Had he remembered that right? Had he always taken the lead, even in bed? Had she always just gone along? Reflecting on it hurt, but he did it anyhow. It was important. Had Lily ever initiated – anything? Or had he relegated her to waiting for him to show up?

His drive-by sex life. Indeed. It was a lot closer to the truth than he'd been willing to admit.

But then – why had she allowed it? Lily Romanov had demonstrated a will of iron. Why had she allowed him to use her that way? Why hadn't she spoken up, said something? Anything? Surely it wasn't his authority in the Company – was it?

He remembered what she'd said, before Reznick shot her. About why she was always so convenient for Control, why she made everything so easy for him. 'It's the only way I can keep you at all.'

He closed his eyes in bitter grief. She told you, he though angrily, she told you point blank. It wasn't about the Company, it was because she loved you, and she let you use her, and you used her … not as your lover, but, as McCall had so eloquently put it, your personal whore.

He stood up abruptly. He had to go before she got here. He couldn't see her, not now. It was the middle of the night. She'd think he expected …

Of course, the moment he decided, the card lock hissed and the door opened and Lily was there.

He got a fleeting impression in the half-light– jeans, white shirt, leather jacket, shoulder bag, she looked grubby and tired – and then she was flying across the room at him. The bag hit the floor with a distinctly glassy 'tink'. Her arms wrapped around his neck, she dragged his face down to hers, her mouth against his, so desperately glad to see him – Control resigned all notion of leaving, at least right away. "Easy," he managed to murmur, "easy."

She relaxed her grip, stayed in his arms, gazed up at him. "Is my room clean enough for company?" she asked in a remarkably conversational tone.

Good girl, he thought absently. "Absolutely," he assured her. "Had the exterminators through this morning."

"Good." She kissed him again, more gently this time. "I am so damn glad to see you."

"I can tell." Control became aware of the smoking cigar, still in the hand he had wrapped around her waist. He untangled himself a bit. "Here, let me … "

"No, finish it," Lily said, before he could stub it out. "I like the way it smells."

"You are a peculiar woman," he said, but took another draw, wrapped his arms back around her.

Before he could exhale, Lily put her mouth over his again and drew the smoke gently out of his lungs, into hers. It caught him entirely by surprise, but it also delighted him, especially when she threw her head back and blew imperfect little smoke rings. "You could have your own, you know."

"Wouldn't taste nearly as good."

Control felt as if his balance were returning. He was suddenly comfortable in his own skin again, in his own head, in his heart. The relief made him starkly aware of how uncomfortable he'd been. Like a frog in slowly heating water, he hadn't felt the tension building until it went away. But all was right now. His Lily was here. "My love," he said softly, and kissed her.

In their embrace, he could feel the tension drain out of her body as well. He nuzzled her temple. "Rough flight?"

Lily groaned. "I could have flown to China and back in less time. How bad was your day?"

"I avoided starting an unnecessary war by about three minutes."

"You win," she conceded. "Tell."

"In a minute." He drew her more comfortably close. "Somehow it doesn't seem to matter much any more."

"Hmmm," Lily purred in agreement. After a moment, reluctantly, she shifted. "I really need a shower. I feel like checked baggage and I must smell lovely."

Control sniffed her hair. "Airplanes and aggravation and … infantrymen?"

Lily laughed out loud. "Impressive. And a little unnerving. For bonus points, name the country of origin of said infantrymen."

He sniffed again. "Canada," he said with certainty.

"How do you _do_ that?" she demanded.

"I'll tell you later. Go shower."

She finally left his arms and went to retrieve her bag. "I probably shouldn't have thrown this," she mused, unzipping it, rummaging for clean clothes. "I've got all these little whiskey bottles."

"Canadian, of course," Control guessed. He snapped on a lamp beside the couch. "They didn't have chocolate or nylons?"

"Don't wear nylons much. Already ate the chocolate."

He puffed his cigar one last time. "Are you hungry? I brought you some dinner."

"Hmmmm – a little." She stood up, the clothes bundled in her arm. "You know what I'd really kill for?"

"A decent cup of coffee."

Lily stared at him. "How are you _doing_ that?"

Control grinned. He supposed he would have to tell her about Becky's reading, eventually, but he rather enjoyed the illusion of omniscience. "All will be explained," he promised.

"Well, that'll be a first."

He turned on the lights and made the coffee while she showered. The grounds Becky had sent were deep-roasted, more black than brown, and the brew filled the air with a wonderfully rich scent. Just coffee, Control mused as he worked. He filled the mugs with hot tap water, let them sit to warm, then dumped the water out. He'd stay for coffee and then he'd go. Because presence, alone in an apartment in the middle of the night, implied pressure, and he did not want to pressure her, even by implication. He felt a world better now that she was here, now that he'd held her. But she felt altogether too wonderful in his arms. No. Better by far to have a cup of coffee and a little small talk, and then to go.

He could see her in the morning, anyhow …

He poured the cream into the mugs, then spooned in the brown sugar. "Thank you, Becky," he said to the city in general, certain that she'd hear him. The coffee was nearly done brewing. Control went and rummaged through Lily's bag, retrieved two tiny bottles of Canadian whiskey. One was wrapped with a little piece of paper, secured with a rubber band. Curious, Control unwrapped it, and was not surprised to find a name and telephone number. Further unabashed snooping found eight more phone numbers, two of them written on the backs of candy bar wrappers.

He finished making the coffee and waited in the living room. When Lily came out of the bathroom – shorts, t-shirt, bare feet, towel-dry hair, half a mile of strong, tanned legs – he dropped a lit match onto the pile of scrap paper in the ash tray. "Oh," he said with mock innocence, "you didn't want to keep any of these phone numbers, did you?"

Lily sighed. "I don't know, that junior lieutenant was pretty cute."

"Infantry," Control snorted. "You can't ever get them clean, you know. They give you any trouble?"

"They were perfect gentlemen," she assured him. "Well, extremely friendly gentlemen, but gentlemen, nonetheless."

"Good. Saves me a trip to Canada. Come, sit, your coffee's ready."

She sat on the couch next to him, threw her legs over his lap. "I kinda like it when you're jealous." She sipped the coffee deeply. "That's so good."

"Canadian Irish coffee," Control mused. He offered a toast. "To the – gentlemen – of whatever unit gave you a ride home."

"May God love them," Lily added, "and keep them north of the border."

They drank. "Much better," Lily said. "What happened today? I tried to call the office and couldn't get through. That can't be good."

"Not good," Control confirmed. He drank his coffee, and he told her. Every detail, every agonizing minute of the whole day, from Becky's phone call on. Somehow, in the midst of the telling, it became funny. Her day had been nearly as bad, minus the threat of war – a series of missed, delayed, and cancelled flights, odd people with strange stories in airports, bad food, bad phones, finally a Canadian troop transport that landed her in Toronto. The longer they talked, the funnier it all seemed.

The coffee was gone long before the conversation. "Why is it," Lily asked, her head on his shoulder, "that this is all so much less aggravating now that I'm here with you?"

"Misery loves company," Control answered. "If Becky had told me you were caught up in this, I would have tried to reach you, told you to stay put."

"It wouldn't have done any good. I would've walked to New York if I'd had to." She trailed her fingers though his short hair. "I couldn't wait one more day to see you."

Control studied her face. She was serious now, seemed content and quiet – why was her heart fluttering against his arm? "I'm glad you're here," he told her, and kissed her gently. "I love you, Lily."

"I love you," she answered, and kissed him, a good deal more deeply.

It seemed to Control that he could feel a question in that kiss, a familiar willingness to follow his lead. Presence was pressure, he reminded himself. He was not going to pressure her, or to lead her. "It's late," he said quietly. "I'll go and let you get some sleep."

Her heart rate accelerated again. "Don't go," she answered, a near whisper. "Please. Stay."

His eyes never left her face. "Lily … "

She took a breath, took the leap. "Take me to bed," she said.

Damn it. "Lily …" he tried again.

"Take me to bed," she repeated, less certainly. "Make love with me."

Now his own heart was racing, part of his mind saying 'yesyesyesyes', he wanted her, how he wanted her. "Not like this," he answered. "Not just because I'm here and it's late and you're a little drunk and it seems like you should. I want you to think about it. I don't want to pressure you."

"I'm not drunk," Lily protested, "and I have thought about it. All day today, and for most of the last couple weeks. You're not pressuring me. This was my idea."

God, but he wanted her. "I want you to be sure."

"I'm sure." And then, much too quietly, "Please."

That one word nearly broke him. It sounded much too much like he was making her beg, for something he wanted so badly it hurt. He put his hand on the side of her face, gently. "Lily … "

She looked away, her cheek suddenly hot under his hand. "I'm sorry. If you don't want me, if I'm too damaged … "

"Don't!" Control barked. His hand grew firm, forced her face back toward him. "Don't ever say that. Don't even think it." She tried to look away again. He wouldn't let her. She shut her eyes instead. "Don't, don't," he pleaded, more quietly. He kissed her closed eyes, her cheeks, her forehead. "Don't. I never stopped wanting you, not for a minute, not ever. I'm just scared."

Her eyes opened, sad and puzzled. "You're what?"

"I'm scared, Lily," he admitted again. "I love you. I don't want to hurt you, or frighten you, or mess you up for life."

"You won't. I trust you."

He drew her face closer still, put his forehead lightly against hers. "And you used to be such a smart girl," he teased gently.

"I trust you in bed," she corrected wryly. Her own hands came up to hold his face. "It'll be okay." They kissed again, long and slow and achingly familiar. "It'll be okay," she promised again.

Control relented – no, admitted to himself that he'd already relented. Wondered where down the road he was going to see this as a colossal mistake. But it didn't matter right now. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Sure you're sure?"

"Hmm, well, let me think about it a little more."

"Take all the time you need." He lifted her gently to her feet, stood, led her by both hands, backing toward the bedroom. He watched her face, looking for the smallest hint of reluctance or fear, but there was only nervous anticipation.

In the bedroom, he freed one hand there to reach for the bedside lamp. "Don't," Lily said quietly.

Control nodded and used the free hand instead to turn back the bed. Then he drew her close again in the dark room. Stroked her hair, ran his thumb along her cheekbone. Kissed her eager little mouth with aching gentleness. "Sure you're sure?" he asked once more, not teasing this time.

"I'm sure," she answered. Her voice was low, deep with emotion, but she shuddered faintly.

Control nodded to himself. Not sure, then, but willing. An important difference, and one he was sure she wasn't aware of. He drew the reins of his own passion even shorter, though the animal part of his mind screamed at the restriction.

They stood in the darkness beside the bed for a long time, just kissing. Lily moved first, finally, reaching to untuck his shirt. He let her peel it off, managed to wait while she ran her hands over his bare back and chest, possessively reacquainting herself. When she sighed, though, as if she'd found some long-missed treasure, when she pressed her lips against the hollow of his collar bone and flicked her tongue over his skin just to taste it, he let himself move, let himself strip off her shirt and drop it to the floor. Even though her hands were all over him, and her mouth, and fire traced through him from every place she touched, still all his attention focused on her, all his senses attuned to the slightest hint that she wanted to stop.

He drew her naked torso tight against his. Fire washed him now, her skin more precious than his own. He had wanted her so badly, so long. Her lips came up and he crushed them with his, reveled in the feeling as she tried to press closer still. His hand found her bare breast and she gasped, coming up on her toes, making him hesitate. "We can stop, Lily," he whispered frantically.

"I don't want to stop," she answered breathlessly. "That was not stop."

"We can stop anywhere you want to," Control insisted, his own voice growing ragged. "Anywhere. You tell me. Understand?"

"Uh-huh." She bit his shoulder lightly.

Even when they were both finally naked, when he lowered her gently across the bed, even when his inner voice shrieked in hungry, joyous recognition – mine, mine, take her, claim her, mine! – even then he kept himself in check, kept focused on her, touched her and tasted her and kissed her as if it were her first time. Went slowly, carefully, until at last she growled in frustration and pushed him over onto his back. Only then, when she was really sure and he was sure she was sure, did he give in to it.

It was good.

"Yes," Lily murmured, some time later, nestled against his side in the dark, tucked under the covers, the sweat still drying on the skin between them.

"Hmmm?"

"Yes," she pronounced more clearly. "Yes, good. Yes."

"Good," Control agreed with satisfaction. It had not been spectacular sex, but it had been satisfactory. Quite satisfactory. He'd gotten her through it without frightening her, without doing any more damage. Control's stud service, he thought dourly, sexual confidence reaffirmed for troubled young women. Somehow it was not a role he had ever anticipated for himself. He chuckled warmly.

"What?" Lily asked.

He decided against telling her. "Nothing. I was just damned and determined to have one cup of coffee and go home. And here we are."

"Regrets?"

"No, no." He shifted his arm, settled her head better on his shoulder. "It just reminds me of the first time, in Budapest. I was just going to have a nightcap then …" His voice trailed off, remembering, and an uneasy notion came to him. "Nobody dared you this time, did they?"

"No," Lily answered, chuckling. "Not this time."

"Hmm."

"Is that what you think, that I bedded you on a dare?" Lily sounded amused by the notion.

Control shrugged. "That's what Reznick said."

"And you'd take his word over mine?"

"I think I'll take the Fifth on that question."

Lily did laugh then. "That's not why I slept with you. Reznick said it couldn't be done, but that's not why."

"Ahh," Control answered, unconvinced.

"I slept with you because of my feet."

He pondered this. "Am I going to regret asking?"

She laughed again. "You took my feet in your lap. You took my socks off."

"That was purely professional," Control protested. "I was seeing if you had frostbite."

"I know," Lily soothed. "But it was also incredibly erotic. First, because you had this reputation as a cold, unfeeling hard-ass, and there you were, all concerned about my toes … "

"You were an asset of the Company," he reminded her gruffly. "And what do you mean, had?"

She ignored the question. "And second, because you had these hands …" She lifted his hand off her arm and held it above them in her two hands, exploring his fingers by touch, "… these hands, and they were so long and elegant and strong and careful and so damn sure of themselves. And I wanted them. All over me." She folded his fingers, brought his hand down again.

Control was all but breathless. "You could have said something."

"Sure. Boss, you've got great hands, let's get horizontal for the duration."

"Maybe something a little more elegant."

"I tried to come up with something," she admitted. "But I was pretty sure you'd turn me down, and I could see years of awkwardness ahead of us." She shrugged. "So I set the stage as best I could, and waited to see if you'd play."

"Set the stage?" Control repeated. He realized suddenly what she was saying. "The candles, the brandy."

"Yes."

"That you let me think were all Henri's idea."

"Yes."

"And the blizzard?" he demanded. "I suppose you arranged that, too?"

"Absolutely," Lily answered smugly.

Control shook his head. "All this time, I thought I led you astray."

"You did lead me astray. You just didn't lead me anywhere I hadn't already planned on going."

Becky's words came back to him. Half of what you think you understand is wrong. "And the rest of the time? Was I ever as in charge as I thought I was?"

"Of course you were."

"Not 'of course.' Did I really make all the decisions, or was that illusion, too?"

Lily rolled over, propped herself on one elbow to look at him. "You made the choices," she told him. "That's how it had to be, because of the secrecy issue. But I decided 'yes' or 'no.'"

"You never said no."

She hesitated. "No. But there were times when I just didn't show up."

Control stared at her for a moment, torn between being angry and being relieved. He understood now, with great precision. "Have you always used passive aggression to get your way?"

"I'm five foot five. What do you think?"

"I think," he admitted slowly, "that you're a good deal more clever than I have given you credit for."

"Well … yes."

"And devious."

"Why devious?" she asked gently. "You knew what was going on."

"Nnnnno," Control answered. "I thought I was calling all the shots."

She didn't, quite, laugh at him. "Oh." She put her head back down on his chest.

"That sounds so arrogant now," Control mused. "I felt so guilty about it. I thought I never gave you a chance to have any say. I didn't realize."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be sorry. I should have known."

She lifted her head again. "If you'd known, would you still have sent me away?"

Control sighed. "I don't know." Further to that, "If I hadn't sent you away, you wouldn't have been at Langley and you wouldn't have ended up in Nicaragua."

"And if my grandmother had wheels, she'd be a wagon." Lily leaned and kissed him. "Let it go."

He drew her back down, held her closely. Put his free hand behind his head and stared at the ceiling, brooding. If he had believed – _believed _– that Lily was an equal partner in their relationship – that she was, as she had so often insisted, able to take care of herself – if he hadn't ended the relationship, shipped her overseas … it was a bitter loop.

As if she could hear his thoughts, Lily kissed his bare chest. "I'm here now, love."

"Yes," he agreed, feeling some of the tightness leave him. But not all. "There are just … so many things that should have been said and weren't."

"And things that shouldn't have been said and were," Lily added.

Control thought a minute or two more. Felt the warmth of her body seep into him. Soothe away the regrets. Here now, yes. She was here now. Death card in play, Becky had said. Major transition. Learn from the mistakes and move on. "Do you remember what I said at the cabin?"

"Yes." Before he could continue, Lily added, "Not now."

"All right."

She brushed her cheek against his shoulder. "Not never. Just not now. One thing at a time."

"All right," he repeated. He drew her closer, ran his hand over the bare skin of her back. Budapest, years ago, lifetimes ago, he'd held her like this. They're been new to each other then, and he remembered thinking how young she was, that there wasn't a mark on her, not the slightest imperfection to her skin. Now, despite the surgeon's best work, there were tiny scars, reminders of burns and lashes and a gunshot. It didn't matter, if anything it made her more precious to him –

"Don't!" Lily snapped.

With a guilty start, Control realized that he'd been idly tracing the old bullet wound with his fingertip. "Sorry," he said, flattening his hand.

Too late. This close, skin-to-skin, he could feel the panic sweep through her body. Her skin grew hot; her breath went shallow and rapid; her heart pounded against him. Every muscle began to tighten and coil. She pushed away from him, sitting up, clutching the covers, trying to speak. "I can't … I can't … "

Control cursed silently, nearly as panicked as she was, but he kept it out of his voice. "All right, Lily, it's all right." He wanted to wrap his arms around her, comfort her, but he knew that was the wrong approach; he had the scar on his lower lip to remind him. Instead, he sat up away from her and pretended it wasn't happening. "Get dressed. I'll fix you some dinner."

"I'm sorry," she spluttered, still panicked, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry … "

Control looked over his shoulder, held her frightened brown eyes with his steel blue. "Lily," he said firmly, "it's all right. Get dressed."

She caught one deep breath, then another. Control let their gaze break. He retrieved the pile of clothes from the floor, sorted his swiftly, left the rest on the bed with her as he walked into the living room, closing the door gently behind him.

But once there, out of her sight, he let his hands make fists, let his teeth grind. Let himself curse, but silently still, damn it, damn it! How could he have been so careless with her again? It had all gone so well while he was careful, she'd been fine, she'd been safe … and the minute he'd let his guard down he'd carelessly reminded her of her wounds. He'd gotten stupid. He was so often stupid with her. Damn it!

When the first wave of fury had passed, Control dressed quickly. Then he went to the toy-sized kitchenette and retrieved Becky's dinner from the shoebox of a refrigerator. He left the salad in its little plastic bowl, dumped the steak and grilled vegetables onto a plate and shoved it in the microwave, but didn't turn it on. He rummaged for silverware and found fifteen teaspoons and two forks, but nothing that resembled a knife, let alone a steak knife. This apartment, he decided, was utterly useless. No wonder his agents complained about temp housing so much.

He kept one ear on the bedroom. Quiet movement, no crying. At least none that he could hear.

Damn it.

He cast about for something else – anything else – to do. Searched again for a knife. Retrieved the coffee cups and rinsed them. Got two more bottles of miniature whiskey from Lily's bag, and found a telephone number that he'd missed. Took them all back to the kitchen and poured drinks into the coffee mugs.

Waited.

He wondered if he should leave, or if that would just make the situation worse. He didn't want to leave.

It took another few minutes, but Lily finally came out of the bedroom. She looked more embarrassed than anything, her wits firmly gathered. She didn't look as if she'd been crying. That was something, at least, Control thought. She walked straight to him, wrapped her arms around him. That, he thought gratefully, was something more.

He held her, kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry, Lily … "

"No," she answered firmly. "Don't be sorry. It's not your fault. That was an entirely foreseeable upset. My trick warned me, and I should have warned you, but I didn't think it would really happen. I'm sorry."

"Your … trick?"

"My Trauma Integration Counselor. My shrink."

"Ahh."

"And for the record, it will probably happen again."

"Oh." Control felt his heart uncoil again. Lily was so reassuringly matter-of-fact about it, he could almost believe that he hadn't done her any permanent harm. Almost.

"Yeah," she said wryly. "Nothing spices up your love life more than the impending threat of a psychotic break, does it?"

He chuckled. "What can I do differently next time?"

Lily shook her head. "Nothing. You did exactly the right thing. You did just fine. With all of it." She kissed him on each cheek. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Control answered sincerely. He was exhausted from changing emotions so often. "Thank you for trusting me. I take is as a great compliment." He kissed her one more time, but he could feel in her posture that they were too close, for the moment. Not quite over the upset, then, but it would pass. "Come, eat."

Lily sat at the napkin-sized table and launched into the salad. Control turned on the microwave. "What else does he say?"

"Who? Oh, my TRIC. He's a she."

"Of course."

"She says I'm a compulsive liar, with sociopathic tendencies, major trust issues, and near-pathological paranoia."

"In short, the perfect Company agent," Control observed. The microwave beeped, loudly. "And Tillman?"

Lily shrugged. "He would have kicked me loose months ago if it hadn't been for the plastics. The plastics guys would keep me another year, but I can't stand them any more."

Control scooped the plate out of the microwave and dropped it onto the table. "Hot," he warned, rubbing his fingers ruefully. "They don't bother me, you know. Your scars. They don't make you any less attractive to me. Lord knows you've seen all of mine."

She caught his hand and kissed his singed fingertips, then released him. "I know. I'll let you see them some time. Just not tonight."

"One thing at a time."

"Yes."

"I can't find a steak knife anywhere. I can't find a knife at all in this damn place."

"I've got one," Lily answered. She got up and trotted to the living room, returned with a fully-loaded Swiss army knife. "Usually they steal all the spoons."

"What Boy Scout did you mug for that thing?" Control asked, eying the knife as she looked through the blades.

Lily finally settled on one with a serrated edge and attacked the steak. "I didn't mug him. I won it in a poker game. Boy Scouts don't gamble worth a damn." She took a bite of the steak. "Oh, my God, that's good. Want some?"

Control sat at the table with her – they had to rearrange their feet to make room for their knees under the tiny table – and let her feed him one bite. "That's enough. Becky fed me."

"Is he going to marry her?"

"Scott? He will if he's smart."

"What's Robert think about that?"

Control snagged one of the zucchini pieces and popped it into his mouth. "He adores Becky. She dotes on him."

"Everybody needs a little doting on."

"She's doted about thirty pounds onto him so far."

Lily shrugged. "Retirement. You should let her feed you more often. You could use the weight."

"Hmmm." He stood and fetched the whiskey. "I found another phone number," he reported, setting down the mugs to read it to her. "'Lily, these guys are all losers, I'm the only one you should call.' Nice."

"Comrades-in-arms. It's touching, really. You can burn it."

"Sure?"

"Sure."

He lit it over the sink and rinsed the ashes down. Then he returned to the table, watching her eat. She'd said she was just a little hungry, but she shoveled the food like it was her last meal. Maybe that was just a habit learned in the field. Kostmayer went at his meals the same way. "Doting," he said quietly.

"Hmm?"

"I'm doting on you," Control announced. "Everybody needs it, you said so yourself."

"A little, I said."

"House in the country. Picket fences."

Lily shook her head. "I'm not really a picket fence kind of girl. Beachfront, now, that might be another story."

"Beachfront, done," Control agreed. "Name your ocean."

"I can't," she answered gently.

He shrugged. "Had to try. How do you feel about training new agents? In a classroom setting, maybe some domestic trial runs?"

"I feel like it's an assignment for those too old or enfeebled to actually be couriers any more."

"Ouch."

"Sorry."

He watched her chew the last bite of steak. Sighed. "Balkans."

She brightened considerably. "I have KGB issues, remember."

"I know. But they're broke," Control answered. "KGB's influence doesn't extend much beyond Mother Russia any more. That's our problem. The Balkans are rapidly becoming – well, Balkanized. Every country's government is starting to assert its own authority, local police forces are becoming more aggressive – our regular routes are falling apart. We can't keep up with the political changes; we don't know who to bribe any more. It's a mess. The intel's not getting out. It's going to require some straight improvising for the next few years."

He studied her further. Her eyes were now alight with interest. It was what she wanted. He sighed again. "It's not impossible, Lily, but it's the closest I've got."

She smiled warmly. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me. Just don't get caught."

Lily frowned, moved the remaining vegetables around her plate with her fork. "If I get caught," she said carefully, "you have to promise not to do anything stupid."

"Excuse me?" Control answered sternly.

She didn't back down from his tone. "You can't do anything stupid if I get caught."

"I do not do stupid things," he said sharply.

Lily shoved the vegetables into a little pile. "Reznick could have killed you."

Control sat back. It had been two years ago, ancient history in terms of their lives. They'd never talked about it, but why was she bringing it up now? "He very nearly killed _you,_" he reminded her.

"He could've gotten you just as easily. You knew it was a trap and you came anyhow."

"What was I supposed to do?" Control demanded. "Just leave you? Let you bleed to death?"

She answered very slowly. "I would rather be dead than see you dead."

"Then you know exactly how I feel."

They stared at each other for a long moment, feeling the weight of that statement. Lily looked away first, back to her plate, taking a little bite of veggies and chewing thoughtfully. "Dying aside," she said, as if that were easily done, "you have a lot more to lose from this than I do."

"This?"

"This." She waved her fork in a circle, indicating the apartment, the two of them. "This relationship."

Control nodded "I don't care."

"I care." She paused again, stirring the damn food, picking her words. "When you sent me away, when I was in France, I was … angry."

"I hadn't noticed." Unable to stop himself, Control reached out and took the fork away from her. "Talk to me."

He put the fork on her plate. She didn't try to retrieve it, but she wanted to. "I gave some serious consideration to getting some kind of revenge. At first it mostly involved bullets, maybe knives, once a garrote …" She glanced up. Control nodded, understanding, not angry. "But then, when I was a little calmer, it got to be about coming out. About going public about us."

Control kept the expression very carefully off his face. He'd known she was angry. He hadn't known she was _that_ angry. Still, nothing had come of it. She was back with him, wasn't she? He made himself be still and listen.

"The more I thought about it," Lily went on, "the more I saw how much trouble I could be to you. How much it could cost you. Your whole career could be gone, like that." She snapped her fingers. "Everything you've worked for … "

"My career," Control snorted. "You nearly lost your life."

"Your career is your life," Lily answered.

She said it as a statement of fact, not in anger. It was damning nonetheless. Control wanted to argue, but couldn't. It was bare truth.

"Once I saw exactly how much you had at stake," she continued, "I couldn't destroy it. I didn't want to, I'm ashamed that I ever thought I could. You put everything at risk to be with me, and I couldn't really blame you for deciding it wasn't worth it … "

"It was never about protecting myself," Control snarled. "It was about keeping you alive. I loved you, and you nearly lost your life because of it. I couldn't take that risk again." His mind thrashed, trying to find the words that would convince her …

"I know."

He stopped thrashing and just looked at her. She did know.

Lily reached across and took his hand. "I know. But I hate it, that you have to risk this. And if I had any spine at all I would have just stayed away."

"No."

"No. But if we're going to do this again, you have to promise me that you'll be more careful. You can't let your heart overrule your head any more. You can't afford to make mistakes."

On the one hand, Control knew that she was right. On the other, much bigger hand, he'd been running covert operations before she was even born, and he didn't much like being lectured about taking risks, least of all by her. "I might have handled Reznick better," he conceded tightly. "But aside from that, there haven't been any mistakes."

"There was Nicaragua."

Ah, he thought, so they were down to it. "You think I should have come after you."

"No. I think you shouldn't have gone back with Mickey."

Control moved past simmering anger and right into ice. "That had to be done."

"Maybe," she answered evenly, "but not by you."

"By who, then?" he exploded. "I admit it was vengeance. I make no apology for that. But it was mine to take."

"No," Lily corrected icily, "it was _mine_."

"Yours?" he asked incredulously.

"Mine. I paid for it. You took it. It should have been mine."

"You were sick, you were …" he barely stopped himself from saying 'pregnant' "… beat all to hell, you couldn't have gone."

"It would have waited. I'm well enough now."

"And how many others would they have tortured and raped and murdered in the interim?"

Lily didn't have an answer for that. She threw herself to her feet and stalked to the tiny living room.

"Next time there's killing to be done," Control called after her, "I'll make sure you get your share."

"You will _not_!" she shouted back. Then there was silence.

Control sat very still, his hands in fists, his eyes tightly closed. His teeth ground, and he desperately wished for a cigar, or another drink. He opened his eyes. The coffee mugs sat untouched; he grabbed one and threw back the whiskey. He reached for the second, then put it back down. Getting drunk was not going to help.

He made himself sit back and breathe. It had never, never occurred to him, not once, not for an instant, that _Lily_ might have wanted her own vengeance. Lily was – what? His frail and innocent flower? He knew better. He'd always known better. But it had never even crossed his mind.

He wanted to justify it, to say that if she hadn't been so battered, so clearly unable, that he would have at least considered taking her along - but it wasn't true. It had been _his _vengeance, _his_ revenge against those who had hurt _his_ woman, and he'd resented sharing it even with Kostmayer.

There was truth more bitter still: He was sorry she was angry, but he wasn't sorry he'd done it, and he wasn't sorry she hadn't played a part. It should have been her revenge, perhaps, but in his black heart of hearts, he was glad he'd stolen it.

There were far too many reasons for that – the child, for one, he never let himself think about the child they had lost – but other things, also, too many to sort, certainly on the fly like this. He buried his feelings again. What mattered now was his Lily. Had she always been such a complicated minefield of emotion? Had she always kept it hidden from him, the hurt and the anger? Or had he just been impossibly obtuse?

Control rubbed his forehead impatiently. Of course he'd called all the shots in the relationship. Of course he had. Idiot. He was a damned idiot.

He stood up, took a long, deep breath, and went to the living room.

Lily was just standing, staring at nothing, her arms at her sides, her hands open. Not angry. Not any more. "I should go," Control offered quietly.

"I don't want you to go," she answered, just as quietly.

He felt lost in the distance between them. "I'm … sorry," he finally offered. "I didn't realize you were so angry about this."

"Neither did I," Lily admitted. She turned to look at him. "Why is this so hard?" she asked sadly. "We used to be so easy together. Why is this so damn hard?"

Control felt himself breathe again. At least he wasn't the only one feeling it. "It was a long time ago," he reminded her. "We were different then."

"I wasn't," she protested stubbornly.

He went closer, put his hands on her shoulders. "When we first met, you were impossibly young." Lily started to protest; he stilled her with a touch. "You were intelligent and strong-willed and independent, but you were young. And I was - old. Old, and very set in my ways. So I molded you into what I wanted you to be, and you let me. That won't work now. You're older, I've made you so much older, and you've made me younger." He paused. "I do think I got the better end of this deal."

"I want it back the way it was," Lily grumbled.

Control shook his head. "We can't go back. We've already changed." She sighed unhappily. "This can be better, Lily." She looked, very pointedly, somewhere else. He caught her face between his long fingers, gently, and studied her eyes. "What is it? What are you afraid of?"

"It's just …" She hesitated, then started over. "Until I met you, my longest relationship lasted five weeks. Five _weeks_. When I was with you, before, it was easy. I knew what you wanted, and I knew how to be." She hesitated again, then admitted the bald truth. "I understood how to be your mistress. And I understood that it was temporary."

"Ahhh." Control wanted to argue that he'd never thought of their arrangement as temporary – but it wasn't true. In the beginning, at least, part of the attraction had been that she'd made it clear he could end it without any fuss. He hadn't considered that while he was studiously avoiding commitment, she was doing the same. But if she'd said 'I want to end this now', of course he would have let her go, graciously. He would have had no choice.

All of that had changed.

"Now," Lily went on, leaning closer, "it's all different. I don't know who I'm supposed to be to you, there isn't even a word for it …"

"Lover," Control supplied simply.

" … and it can't be temporary, it _can't_, because I can't stand to lose you now, but I feel like I'm out here without a net …"

"I won't let you fall." She wanted to go on, but he stopped her. "Lily. Do you love me?" he asked, seriously, gently.

"More than my life. Which is … "

"Do you know that I love you?"

"Yes."

"Everything else," he assured her, "is negotiable. We'll work it out. Don't be afraid of this. I am not going to let you go."

"But …"

"Lily." A wry smile played across his face. "Trust me." Control drew her close and kissed her tenderly. Kissed some of her fear away, he hoped. Then he remembered. "I have something for you."

He left her and retrieved the tiny parcel from his jacket. Holding it, he was seized by a wrenching, unexpected moment of self-doubt. They were suddenly deep in old ritual. He could feel it in his bones: from time immemorial, Man kills hairy, meaty thing, drags it to Woman's cave. If she accepts it, she accepts him. If not, he sleeps out in the cold. It did not matter that the large meaty thing was now a small burgundy jewelry box. The principal was exactly the same. If he could not persuade her to accept his gift, he could not keep her. For an instant he didn't want to take the chance.

There was no going back. Swallowing his apprehension, he took the box back to Lily. "I want you to have this."

She eyed the box in his hand nervously, refusing even to touch it. "If that's a diamond," she warned, "I'm going to run screaming into the night."

"My lady does not favor diamonds," Control answered. "Nothing nearly so conventional." He opened the box with one hand, revealing the emerald pendant inside. On a white bed, it showed deep, brilliant green, as large as her smallest fingernail.

Lily's hands came up toward it, then dropped back to her sides. "It's beautiful," she breathed. "But …"

He could almost hear the wheels turning. An emerald that large, that green, couldn't possibly be real, and it if was, it must be worth … "It's real," he told her. "And it's yours."

She looked away from the emerald, into his eyes. He could see panic in her face, and passion, and she didn't seem to know which to feel first. She understood as well as he did that it wasn't about a polished gem in a box. "I …can't," she said faintly.

"You can," Control told her, with a great deal more assurance than he actually felt. She obviously wasn't going to touch the thing – but she hadn't pushed it away, either. He took it out of the box, let the emerald fall to the length of the silver chain. "It's yours. Whatever happens between us, it's yours."

"I … I … "

She hadn't rejected it outright, anyhow. Control pushed his advantage. He moved behind her, draped the chain over her head, hooked it, lifted her hair gently free. "It is my heart," he told her, before she could protest further. "I kept it locked away for years and years, but it is yours now. And if you will not have it, then I will throw it into the sea."

"I … I … "

She still wouldn't touch it, though it hung now on her chest. Control had a notion that he should wait, let her make her own decision – not lead her. He couldn't do it. He caught her hand, wrapped it over the emerald, wrapped his hand over hers. "It's yours," he said again. "And my career is not my life, not any more, and my heart is yours, for as long as I live."

Lily trembled gently in the circle of his arms. Her free hand came up, finally, and wrapped over his, over hers, over the emerald. She turned to look at him, her eyes filled with bewildered tears. "I love you," she whispered.

_Yes._ "And you'll stay with me?" he prompted.

"Always. Always."

She trembled again, and Control could almost feel the emotion of the moment overwhelming her – and him. "And you won't run off to Canada with a junior lieutenant?" he offered, a gently teasing diversion.

Lily chuckled, breathing again, releasing some of the intensity. "Not this weekend, anyhow."

"Good." He drew her closer, kissed her long and slow and deep. So familiar, and so new, and there wasn't any question that they were going back to bed soon. Soon. But Control had one moment of clear vision, one moment to see that the death card had finally finished turning, that the past was over and the future had begun. There would be difficult moments, he was sure, foreseeable upsets, misunderstandings, wrong turns, and there would be fights. His once-convenient affair was now going to require an awful lot of work. That was exactly how he wanted it. Whatever else happened, the emerald was Lily's now, and she was his for keeps.

** The End **


End file.
